


Noldor the Grape, Sweeter the Whine

by Lanning



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Challenge Response, Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-03
Updated: 2003-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-03 11:00:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lanning/pseuds/Lanning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim's ears come out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Noldor the Grape, Sweeter the Whine

**Author's Note:**

> This madness was in response to an elf-fic challenge perpetrated by Merry and Cesperanza on fandom at large. They may have forgotten, but the residual crack is evidence of their Dark Powers. ;)

"Knock, knock."

"Shut up, Sandburg."

Blair sighed. "Come on, Jim, we've been watching this place all night. The guy's not going anywhere. Knock, knock."

Jim didn't lower the binoculars. "I swear to God I'll knock knock your head on the dashboard if you don't shut up."

"Knock. Knock."

Jim sighed and tossed the binoculars onto the dashboard, sending a cascade of light snow from the roof spilling down the windshield. "Who's there?"

"Points."

Jim turned to Blair with his best I've-eaten-Guide-guts-and-liked-it-face on. "Points. Who."

Blair recoiled and backpedaled frantically. "Points...are nice. Really. Nothing wrong with points."

Jim's jaw went all twitchy. "Spit it out!"

Blair sighed. "Jim. Come on, man. Everybody's noticed."

"Noticed what?" Jim's eyes narrowed, daring him to answer.

Blair swallowed. "The ears, man. What's with the ears?"

Jim yanked his baseball cap down, muttering.

"They've gone all...pointy."

"Damn it, Sandburg, mind your own business!"

"It's freaking me out! Is it some kind of medical condition? Because—"

"Yeah, Sandburg. It's a medical condition. I haven't fucked you in two weeks and the stuff's backing up, okay?"

"Hey, I'm just concerned here! You've got an abnormal growth—"

"It's perfectly normal!"

"Only if you're baking cookies in a tree somewhere."

"That—" Jim jabbed a finger into Blair's chest with a truly terrifying expression. "Is exactly the kind of racist crap that made me bob my ears in the first place."

"Uh..."

"Well, no more, Sandburg. From now on, it's the real Finwë Elanessë."

"Uh..."

"And if you can't handle a biracial relationship, you can take a long walk off a short _talan_."

"Uh..."

"_Elbereth Gilthoniel_! The shit I've had to do to pass for mortal!"

"Uh..."

"And you never once caught on, did you? Morgoth's balls, Sandburg, how many times do you think one guy can drop his gun?"

"There's a limit?"

Jim ignored him. "Well, I've had it. It's Elven grace for me from now on. Get used to it." Jim shoved the binoculars into Blair's hand and shouldered the car door open. "I'm going to the can." He slammed the door behind him.

Blair sank back into his seat, watching Jim in the rear view mirror as he sprang Elven-lightly across the surface of the snow. "Damn." He rested his curly-toed Elven-boots on the dashboard. "Time to start color-coding the _lembas_."


End file.
